Tight
by madame.alexandra
Summary: Gibbs and Jenny are up to something in the NCIS gym. The question is: can Gibbs handle the, ah, legwork? One-shot; Jibbs, light-hearted.


_A/N: Double entendres are FUN & so are little one-shots with no angst! _

* * *

"Little bit harder, Jethro."

"Relax, Jen."

"I can take it."

He said nothing. She shifted; impatient.

"Come _on, _give it to me—push harder!"

"Don't want to hurt you."

"I _need_ it to hurt," she said curtly. She tilted her head back, lips pursed at the ceiling, and shifted, arching up to take pressure off her tailbone. "Quit holding back."

He glared at her, tightening his grip on her thigh, his fingers pressing into her skin firmly. He pushed forward and she winced, sucking in her breath—and he immediately backed off, to her chagrin.

"_Dammit_, Jethro."

"You _winced_."

"I said go until I tell you to _stop_," she growled through her set jaw. "I _want_ it to _hurt_."

He rose up on his knees a little more, and looked at the sweaty wisps of hair on her forehead, and her wrinkled brow. He wished he hadn't agreed to this; he didn't like it and he hadn't liked it back in the day, either. He had been minding his own business in the bullpen when she came waltzing in all fresh from a workout with her skin flushed and her fluttering eyelashes and her sexy little yoga bra baring her stomach—

She shot him a look and glared.

"This position isn't exactly comfortable," she said.

"Do it yourself, then," he retorted.

"I want you to do it," she answered huskily, and tossed her head back on the floor behind her. She licked her lips. "Get it over with real quick."

"Is this _good_ for you?"

"_Do it_, Jethro."

He leaned forward, gripping her thigh tightly, sliding his hand up the back of her calf, and complied—a little—until she winced again and sucked in her breath. He stopped—again.

"For the love of God!" she cried, exasperated. "What part of _until I tell you to stop_ don't you understand!"

"It's _hurting_ you, Jen!" he protested.

"That's the _damn_ point," she fired back. "It hurts but it feels so _good_ when we're done," she explained bluntly, and shifted her hips. She leaned up and looked at him intently. "You did this to me in Paris al the time, what the hell's different now?"

"You're older now, Jen…"

She lunged forward and punched him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. He gasped and gave her a wounded, offended look, struggling to breath for a moment.

"Who's old now, asshole?" she gloated, flexing her fingers.

She laid back, flat on her back splaying her fingers over her hips purposefully. She tightened the muscles in her abdomen and he was momentarily distracted.

"Firm, but gentle," she instructed. "Don't stop until I can kiss my knee."

He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'kiss my ass' and she narrowed her eyes at him.

"You want me to ask DiNozzo to do this?" she threatened. "He did it once," she mocked, "and he was, ooh, _fantastic_."

Gibbs glared at her, and took hold of her ankle, tightening his fingers. He gripped her thigh again, and leaned forward, pressing the weight of his chest into her calf and the bend of her knee and pushing her leg forward, using a good amount of his strength to stretch out her cramping muscle.

He didn't so much care about hurting her after that crack about DiNozzo.

"Give," she breathed, and after a moment, he released her leg, and leaned back onto his knees, sitting and looking at her balefully.

She used to get cramps in Paris because she sat with one leg curled under her on stakeouts. She was getting cramps now because she did yoga not _regularly,_ but _when she felt like it_.

She breathed out happily, lazily lowering her leg and resting it on his shoulder. She smirked at him and wriggled her toes affectionately.

"Thanks, Agent Gibbs," she said smugly, giving him a flattering, sweet look.

"All that, and you're not gonna call me Jethro?" he groused.

Jenny laughed softly.

"Na, you called me old."

"Just old_er_."

"Semantics."

"Fine, you're still twenty-nine," he corrected, rolling his eyes. "What's the yoga for, then?"

Didn't women do that to stay young or somethin'? He didn't really know; he'd thought it was a kind of yogurt for about five years.

She arched an eyebrow.

"Keeps everything tight," she drawled.

He tilted his head, interested suddenly.

"How?"

"I'll show you later, _Jethro_."

He grinned and reached up, running his hands over her legging-clad leg slowly, kneading his knuckles gently along the muscled length of her calf and her thigh. She let her eyes close slightly, parting her lips; relaxing—and then he paused, suspiciously.

Her eyes popped open.

"When the _hell_ did you let DiNozzo do this?" he demanded jealously.

"When you were on that _adorable_ little Corona furlough."

Gibbs glared at her possessively.

"Why didn't you ask _Ziva_?" he asked petulantly.

Jenny looked slightly pale.

"Ziva thinks everyone is as flexible as she is," Jenny answered ominously. "No one is, Jethro—she can—with her—well," Jenny broke off, and put her hand behind her neck as a pillow.

She gave Gibbs a matter-of-fact look.

"You can just ask DiNozzo what Ziva David can do with her legs."

* * *

_-Alexandra_  
_story# 105_


End file.
